by Jes Battis
“Fine. Stoke disengaged. I have no feelings about curry.”
“That’s better.”
Derrick opens a bottle of wine. By the time dinner is ready, we’ve moved on to a second bottle, and I’m starting to feel a bit more philosophical about my day. Sure, it’s possible that the story of my birth is an enormous lie. Why not just add it to the pile? Everybody lies. If we didn’t, talking would be unbearable.
Mia serves the curry, which is stellar. We’re about halfway through the second bottle of Shiraz when I hear the front door. Patrick walks into the kitchen.
“You’re home early,” Mia says.
“Yeah.” He has a weird smile. “Tonight’s business didn’t take as long as I thought it would. Dinner smells awesome.”
“There’s a plate for you in the fridge.”
Patrick grabs his portion and sits down across from me. His eyes are strangely cloudy, and I can smell something familiar on his skin. It’s almost—
“Have you been drinking?” I ask.
“No. I drove here.”
“I wasn’t talking about alcohol.”
“Tess—” Mia begins.
I shake my head. “You’re completely juiced.”
“I am not.”
“Patrick, your eyes are practically red.”
Anger flashes across his face. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because I can smell the blood on you.”
He stands up. “God. Why do you always have to stigmatize me? I drink blood. I’m a fucking vampire, Tess.”
“Watch your language.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of monster. I can smell the materia on you, but I don’t make you feel like shit about it. Why are you always getting on my case about something that I can’t control?”
“I’m only asking you to show a little restraint. When you come to dinner all blissed out on heme, it’s like—”
“What? Like I really am a demon who drinks blood to survive? Or would you prefer that I keep that part of my life a secret?”
“I’m not saying that—”
“Both of you knock it off,” Mia snaps. “Patrick, sit down. I cooked, and we’re going to have a normal, insult-free dinner.”
Patrick looks at me expectantly.
I sigh. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being a hypocrite.”
“And a necrophobe.”
“I’m dating a necromancer. How can I be necrophobic?”
Lucian glares at me. “That’s like saying you can’t possibly be racist because you’re dating a person of color.”
“Sorry. Please don’t ask me to read Gloria Anzaldúa again.”
“I swear,” Mia says, “if you don’t shut up and eat this food that I lovingly prepared, I will kill each and every one of you.”
I reach across the table and take Patrick’s hand. “Darling. I’m sorry. There’s no part of you that I don’t love.”
“I could do without his morning farts,” Mia says beneath her breath.
I kiss his fingers. “I even love those.”
Miles makes a face. “Can we change the subject?”
“Absolutely.” Derrick refills his glass. “Any suggestions?”
Lucian grins. “How about first loves?”
I stare at him. “You really want to go there?”
“I prefer discoursing on love to talking about vampire farts.”
“Fine. You first, then. Who was your first love?”
“You.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Language,” Patrick says. But he’s smiling.
I shake my head. “Dude, you’ve been alive since before the Spanish Civil War. You’ve had way more experiences than I have. You expect me to believe that you never fell in love with a single person before we met?”
He shrugs. “I’ve loved people. I’ve been attracted to people. But it was all shadowboxing. You’re my main event. You’re what matters.”
I don’t know what to say. Everyone’s staring at us. I’m afraid I might throw up or start crying. Possibly both.
“I’m your boxing metaphor?” I whisper.
“You’re my beloved.”
He kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you wish you weren’t in a room surrounded by your family. I blush.
“Great,” Derrick says. “Someone’s supposed to top that?”
I grin. “Go ahead. I know exactly what you’re going to say.”
“Oh, do you?”
“I think I do.”
He sighs. “Man. You do know me well.”
“So who was he?” Miles asks.
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Wait until you hear mine.”
“Okay. His name was Stuart. He was my camp counselor.”
“Oh wow,” Mia says. “Finally, something dirty.”
“Nothing happened! We ate marshmallows and played ‘The John B. Sails’ on the ukulele. All I could do was admire him from afar.”
“Aw.” Miles kisses him on the cheek. “That’s creepy.”
“Please don’t sully my campfire romance.”
“You’re right. It’s sweet.”
“So.”
“So what?”
Derrick gives him a look. “I told you mine.”
“Ah—” Mia leans in closer. “Now I’m curious. Who was it that captured the heart of Miles Sedgwick?”
“It’s a bit tragic.”
“More tragic than Derrick stalking his camp counselor?”
He glares at Mia. “I was eleven. I wasn’t stalking anyone.”
“Hush,” I say. “Continue, Miles.”
Miles looks momentarily uncomfortable beneath the weight of our eyes. Then he shrugs and fiddles with his hearing aid. “His name was Phil. He was blond. We defiled his tree house.”
“Whoa.” Derrick high-fives him. “Way to go.”
“When his family moved, he left me all of his comics. Sweet boy.”
I look at Mia. “You’ve been awfully vocal about getting people to tell their stories. What about you?”
“What about me, Tess?”
“You know I hate it when you use my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I—” She looks down. “It’s stupid.”
“I wanted to get into Stuart’s kayak,” Derrick says. “There’s no judgment at this table. Love is love.”
She looks at Patrick for a second. He seems on the verge of saying something, but keeps his mouth shut.
“It was just some guy in the fourth grade,” she says. “I don’t even remember his name. He talked to me a few times—whatever. I haven’t lived long enough to have the kind of stories that you all have.”
I feel like she’s lying, but I don’t know why. Embarrassment? Remorse? Maybe she hasn’t fallen in love with anyone yet. It was stupid of me to press her. The last thing a teenage girl wants is to discuss romance in front of her family.
“You’re still figuring things out,” I say. “You’ve got all the time in the world. And, Patrick? What about you? I know you’ve been busy magnating it for the past few years, but before that—”
I almost say when you were human. Man, I’m really batting a thousand in the insensitivity department tonight. I bite off the words and simply smile. I hope it resembles the smile of an attentive parent rather than that of a bitchy misanthrope who may be the smallest bit necrophobic.
“Patty Smalls,” he says. “We met in kindergarten. She had freckles, and she gave me a scratch-and-sniff valentine. It’s one of the few things I remember from before I was turned.”
Mia grins. “Hot.”
“Shut up.”
“All right, Diotima,” Derrick says. “You’re the only one left. Spill. Who was your first love? And don’t say me, even though we both know that you once had a wicked crush.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy.”
Everyone’s looking at me. Everyone
’s smiling. The cold, ineluctable truth is that I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love. I’ve had feelings. I’ve lusted, coveted, longed for what I couldn’t have. I’ve been with people in the dark. Probably too many. But if love is the astonishing nude trust in Lucian’s eyes, then—
Then?
I love you all, I want to say. I love you so much it kills me. I’d set fire to myself to keep any one of you from harm. That’s what I’m certain of.
“My math teacher,” I say weakly. “He looked cute in flannel.”
Mia gives me an odd look.
Now we’ve both told a lie.
I wake up to an empty house. It’s the wine’s fault. I give myself a few more minutes of lucid-dream time, then drag myself out of bed. Lucian’s shirt hangs from the doorknob. It’s unlike him to leave clothing here. He may love me, but he’s pretty cagey about his things. I put it on, and find that it fits surprisingly well as an overshirt, in addition to smelling nice. My jeans are starting to smell like bad cookies, but I know I can wring one more day out of them. I argue with my hair for a while, finally combing it into a weird bun that makes me want to punch the mirror, but at least I can go outside. I check my phone as I’m going downstairs. There’s a text from Derrick inviting me to lunch at Milestones, which he knows I can’t resist due to the circumference of their Bellinis. There’s nothing from work, which disappoints me, although I’m not completely sure why. Any day without an autopsy should be good, right?
I have an hour before I have to meet Derrick. I grab the 20 bus, which sparks and rocks on its cables until we reach the west end. I walk down Granville, which smells like pizza and pot. I don’t really know where I’m going. The gathering clouds threaten rain, but don’t quite deliver. I find myself standing in front of a familiar building: a club, formerly Moonbase, which has been renamed Blood Drive. Vampires think they’re so damn clever. This was where I first met Lucian. At the time, he was working for Sabine Delacroix, who ran the club when she wasn’t busy killing people.
I stare at the door, which has been painted black. This is where everything started. I remember Lucian offering me a beer, and Sabine placing her hand on my leg, a hand that would later choke me. I remember seeing Patrick, asleep, hooked up to machines that scrutinized the progress of his virus. It wasn’t that long ago, but I feel like whoever I was then is gone. I blinked and missed her.
The door opens as I’m standing there. A familiar vampire walks out, wearing shades. It’s the same bouncer who talked to me years ago.
“Hey.” I smile. “Remember when you smelled me?”
“Of course. How could my nose forget?”
“You haven’t changed.”
“I’m dead.”
“Well, it suits you.”
“Thanks. Is there something you wanted?”
“I was just in the neighborhood. I like the new name.”
“It’s sardonic.”
“Yeah. I got that.”
His mouth twitches. It’s almost a grin. “How’s Lucian?”
“Fine.”
“We all miss him.”
“I’ll bet.” I decide to try something. “Hey. Here’s a question. Have you noticed any seriously tweaked vampires in this neighborhood?”
“Tweaked on what?”
“I don’t know. It looks kind of like bloodlust, only glassier. Somewhere between hungry and stoned.”
He’s silent. I wonder if he’s considering whether or not he should say anything. I try to look slightly vapid, like a tourist asking where BC Place is.
“Vampires don’t get stoned,” he says finally. “THC barely affects us. We can get drunk, if the alcohol is strong enough.”
“He’d have smelled, if that were the case.”
“Where did you see this vampire?”
“Once in my neighborhood, and once closer to downtown.”
He lights a cigarette. “Ask the Magnate. Aren’t you two close?”
“Not lately.”
“Ask Modred, then. He knows more anyhow. With all due respect to the Magnate, of course.”
“That’s actually a good idea.”
“Well. I have my moments.”
I turn to leave. Then I stop.
“What’s your name?”
“None of your business.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
He stubs out the cigarette and walks back inside, shutting the door behind him. In my mind, I think I’m going to call him Ruben from now on. I could walk to the vampire community center to speak with Modred, but it seems pointless. I can’t ask the right hand of the Magnate if he’s noticed any drunk vampires wandering around. It’s a dumbass question, and the last thing I need is to look incompetent in front of someone who sleeps with a sword under his pillow. I opt for lunch with Derrick instead.
The restaurant is busy. Every couple in the city must be craving expensive cocktails. I find him sitting by the window.
“Who did you blow to get this table?”
“Good afternoon to you, too.”
I sit down. “Thanks for the invite. I’m starving.”
“I took a chance and ordered you the three-cheese burger.”
“Good call.”
A model/waiter brings our food. We eat in semi-silence, which is one of the perks of having a best friend who can read your thoughts. Right now, I’m grappling with the realization that this cheese is going to give me gas. Once I’ve resigned myself to that, I start thinking about Lucian again.
“He asked me about you,” Derrick says.
“What do you mean?”
“Lucian. We were talking at breakfast—while you were snoring—and he asked me if something was up with you.”
I bristle slightly. “Why not just ask me himself?”
“Because you’re the Death Star deflector shield.”
“Oh, I’m the deflector? Have you talked to Selena yet?”
He looks around, as if CORE agents are everywhere. “For your information,” he says, lowering his voice, “I did.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Is Miles going to be questioned?”
“Of course not. He has nothing to do with this.”
“He could have been at the scene, and you know it.”
“Actually, I know that he has no reason to hang around Burnaby Mountain in the middle of the night.”
“Actually, McBitchy, he has a life of his own. You have no idea if he was meeting with you-know-who or not.”
“He would have told me.”
“Just like you’ve told him about the time you used thought-control to get him to return that late movie? Or is that still a secret?”
“I—” He reddens slightly. “That hasn’t come up yet.”
I fold my arms. “You need to tell him. And Miles needs to be questioned. He’s a big boy. I’m sure he can handle whatever Selena’s going to ask him.”
“She said it sounded circumstantial.”
“Are you kidding? She loves circumstantial.”
He stares at his empty plate. “Why would he have been talking to you-know-who? The two literally live in separate worlds.”
“The last time I checked, spatial profilers were sort of known for prying into other worlds. Do you really know everywhere he’s been?”
“No,” he says sullenly. “Do you know everywhere that Lucian’s been?”
“Of course not.”
We’re both silent for a while.
Derrick sighs. “I need another Bellini.”
“I’m already on it.”
5
After nightfall, I head to the vampire community center. Patrick’s at home, so I know that Modred will be there by himself. Even though he saved my life once, I’m still not sure how much I can trust him. Patrick thinks he hung the moon and the stars. I’m a bit of a harder sell. When I reach the nondescript entrance, I ring the buzzer, which is new. A girl opens the door. She looks about my age, but the red flecks in her eyes suggest that she�
�s been around for quite a bit longer.
“I’m Tess Corday.” I incline my head, which seems only polite. “I’m here to talk with Modred.”
“He’s in a mood.”
“Would you call it a bloodlust mood, or just general snark?”
“You can see for yourself. Don’t be surprised if he won’t talk to you, though. He’s been ignoring everyone the whole night.”
She ushers me into the common area. A few vampires are watching TV, while others play cards at a makeshift table. There’s a line for the computer, as always. I head upstairs to Patrick’s office. It’s odd to think that the kid who still watches DuckTales also commands every vampire in the city of Vancouver. He loves me, as much as an immortal can love anything, but I also know that he’d take me apart if he had to. Sometimes, when I walk by his bedroom and hear him gently snoring, I think: He’s yours, and he’s a killer.
Modred sits at Patrick’s desk. He’s studying paperwork and doesn’t look up when I come in. “Tess. What brings you here?”
“I have a question for you.”
“I have answered a dozen of the Magnate’s questions today, and I doubt that he absorbed a single thing. If I answer you, will you listen?”
“As I suspected,” I say. “General snark.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.”
Modred looks up at me. His lip ring is a half-moon against pale flesh. There are bags under his eyes. He looks like a photosensitive teenager, like one of those scary orphans from the horror movie with Nicole Kidman. I don’t know how old he is really, but he does have an Anglo-Saxon vibe, which leads me to believe that he spent time chilling with Manticores and purebloods. Certainly he knew Caitlyn, the former Magnate who sired Patrick. I should be more nervous around him, but we bonded during a cab ride, or at least I think we did. Plus, disarticulating me will tick off Patrick, and Modred is nothing if not loyal.
“What is your question, Tess?”
“It’s about vampires getting drunk.”
“You came all the way here to ask me about that? Vampires get drunk the same way humans do, only it takes more alcohol. Mead often does the trick.”
“I saw a vampire who looked—I don’t know—blissed out. Kind of drunk, but kind of not. How would a drunk vampire behave?”